Might As Well Jump
by The Black Sun's Daughter
Summary: L'appel du vide. The call of the void. Another name for the sudden, fleeting impulse to jump off of a high place.


"Of all places to get pissed, I think the roof of a church is a new one for me," Ezekiel remarks as he climbs over the railing of the chapel...tower...thingy atop the Sainte-Chapelle to look at Jacob; the historian's sitting on the floor with an open bottle of something alcoholic sitting between his legs. He's not sure why the art geek is up here when all the pretty artsy stuff is inside, but he's not one to question it. Hell, he's pretty sure they're not supposed to be up here at all. Tourists aren't supposed to be on the roof.

"What are you doin' up here?" Jacob asks, looking up at Ezekiel.

The thief huffs and sits down on the cool stone. There's not exactly a whole lot of room up here, so his leg brushes up against Jacob's without really trying to. "Lookin' for you, I guess. I wanted to talk to you."

"Couldn't wait for me to get home?"

Ezekiel doesn't question him calling the Annex 'home.' He can't, really, since he agrees. "Privacy's always nice," he answers at last, leaning his head back against the railing. "I'm...it's just..." He pauses and bites at his lower lip for a minute, trying to think of a good way to put what he's thinking into words that actually make sense. "Have you ever...stood up on a high place? Like, on a high balcony or a cliff or something?"

A little crease appears between Jacob's brows. "Yeah. 'Course. Why?"

"Because I was wondering. Does your brain ever do this...this funny thing? Not ha-ha funny but kind of creepy funny? Because humans, we're like bloody cockroaches, right? We survive _everywhere._ But you get up someplace high, and there's something in your brain, in your feet, that just wants to..." He waves a hand in front of him. "Jump?"

Jacob nods slowly, taking another drink from the bottle. _"L_ _'appel du vide,"_ he says. "The call of the void."

"Mm-hm. It's not like suicide, you don't really wanna die. Just want to...to do something...quick. And irrevocable."

Jacob's eyes narrow at him a little bit. "Are you drunk?"

"No. Kinda wanna be, though. Hand it over," he says, sticking out a hand towards the bottle that's still resting in Jacob's lap.

After a moment's pause, the historian hands it over, and Ezekiel takes a deep pull. It's wine, some kind of strong red. He takes only a few swallows and pushes the bottle back to Jacob. Wine doesn't do well with him.

He looks out through the railing, looking at the lights of the city for a few moments as the wine gets him warm from the inside out, then pulls his gaze away from the view, the height, and looks back at Jacob. In an instant, a burst of light, a passing shadow, a rush of warmth, he thinks, _fuck it,_ and then, with all the grace becoming of a slightly-buzzed thief, he flings himself on the other man and plasters their mouths together in a hurried, sloppy kiss, kind of bowling him over onto his back. Jacob tastes like the wine he's been drinking. And once he has hold of Jacob (well, is lying atop him), Ezekiel doesn't much want to move. In facts, there's things like shirts and boots and jeans that he finds a bit in-the-way and starts to get rid of them. He pretends that the wide-eyed stare is just par for the course.

"J-Jones...?" The historian isn't making any kind of effort to resist him, though. In fact, he's _helping_ , fingers sliding up underneath Ezekiel's shirt and rolling it up; his legs part a little too, so Ezekiel's thigh can fit between his. They fit together so nicely this way, too.

 _"L'appel du vide,_ eh?" he mumbles back. He slides his knee up the inside of Jacob's thigh until he can't go any further.

Jacob nods, reaching up and clasping his hand over the nape of Ezekiel's neck, pulling him down into another kiss. "I get it. I _do_. You don't really want to jump. Nobody really wants to jump. It's just...it's like... Like Caesar crossing the Rubicon," he murmurs against the thief's mouth. "He was afraid. Terrified. Didn't think he was gonna be able to do it until—ah!" Ezekiel bites at the side of his neck. "—until it was too late and there was no turning back."

"Like going against a Sterenko," Ezekiel agrees. That's something he's thought about too. Flinging himself against it, just to see if he can get over or if he'll just crash against it like a wave against the cliffside.

Suddenly, Jacob rolls them over and puts Ezekiel on his back under him, straddling his waist. Looking up at him, Ezekiel realises that Jacob is one of those blokes that doesn't really look big until he's _right there,_ broader and heavier than the thief. "I don't really want to drink myself blind up here alone, and you don't really want to go against one of those. But we both want to _jump."_

"Yes..." He slides his hands beneath Jacob's arms, reaching around to grab his back, digging his fingers into firm muscle, and pulling him down. Up close, in those dark river-coloured eyes, he sees that wildness he'd tried to describe before.

Jacob pulls Ezekiel's belt free with a rasp of leather on fabric, undoing the zip on his trousers and tugging them open. "Y'know, it probably ain't gonna kill me to have my way with you in a church." He places both hands on the thief's knees. "But it certainly _feels_ dangerous, don't it?"

Ezekiel has a snappy answer. He's certain he does. But it's hard to think of it when Jacob is slithering down his body and lowering his head and...and...

He'll think of it later. Much later.


End file.
